


make latte art out of my heart

by jamespotteurs



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, LUCAS AND CHLOÉ DATED IN THE PAST, Lucas is TIRED, M/M, MOSTLY FLUFF DONT WORRY, THEYRE ALSO UNIVERSITY STUDENTS AND THUS MESSY, and Elliot is A WARM BALL OF LIGHT, following the trend in the fandom post THAT clip, help these boys are taking over my life, some emotional turmoil, still gonna be cute though, this was gonna be cutesy but ive decided to insert some angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 21:51:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17906339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamespotteurs/pseuds/jamespotteurs
Summary: When Lucas walked into a coffeeshop one day, tired and worn down, he didn’t expect it to change his life.It did.Alternatively,Lucas, Lattes and Learning how not to be an idiot





	make latte art out of my heart

**Author's Note:**

> this is dedicated to the You Better Be Sharin Love gc whose relentless depravity has made me seek refuge in fluffy Elu fic. You expand my worldview by introducing me to some truly disturbing things every single day. I love you.
> 
> disclaimer for chocolatine vs pain au chocolat discourse.

The familiar fragrance of baked goods and melancholia hit Lucas suddenly as he walked into the café across the street from his apartment.

_Les Fauves_ had been one of his most frequented haunts when he had moved into the city eight months ago. Now, he and the once beloved copper machines and cozy red sofas were ghosts, imprints of a time Lucas desperately wished to erase from his short but vibrant time as an independently-settled adult.

Well, almost fully independent. His hopelessness at culinary adventures undermined his talent at those related to laundry, and he would probably starve to death if not for Manon’s propensity for mothering him and regularly making enough food to feed a small third-world country.

He _adored_ Manon. If he wasn’t categorically opposed to romance of the heterosexual variety, he would probably be in love with her.

He loved her the most on days when her boyfriend, Charles, didn’t show up at their apartment for them to indulge in shared debauchery that most definitely included genitalia and other things he did not care to think about.

He’d arrived at the apartment from his university class to hear a barely concealed moan through the door, and turned right back around to save himself from witnessing a truly disturbing visual which would undoubtedly render him unable to face Manon without laughing for days, and he rather cared about keeping himself properly nourished and such.

Sure, he had the humour and emotional intellect of a high-schooler, but he felt that Manon and Charles’ inability to establish boundaries to locations where they were allowed to fulfill their libidinous needs was a _remarkably_ bigger problem.

Still, Manon had been stressed and detached lately, and she deserved a day of reckless abandon and Lucas, for all that was worth, was a decent human being with empathy.

So Lucas turned around and went back into the streets, tired and worn after a long day of classes, before realising that wandering around in a still fairly unfamiliar city wasn’t the best course of action in his state.

He briefly entertained the thought of messaging Yann and the others, but realised they would still be at the university for an exhibition he was all too happy to avoid.

The café had been a Hail Mary, a last desperate attempt to keep himself from becoming a human popsicle in the freezing December wind.

Only the threat of imminent popsicle-isation was enough to lure him back into its walls though, for Lucas was nothing but a master at avoidance.

Chloé, the barista with the pretty smile who studied Chemistry in the same university as him, and had responded enthusiastically to his tragic and clumsy attempts at appearing straight, was not likely to be there, if he remembered her work schedule right from their farce of a romance.

His eagerness to avoid any remnants of his shameful past had led to the tragic demise of his acquaintance with the coffee shop, which served pretty incredible hot chocolate if memory served.

However, as much personal growth as he had undergone in the past few months, it seemed that the café had regressed, judging by the dubstep music blaring through the place instead of the old-school rock he had loved months ago.

Closer observation told him that it was not simply dubstep, but an eerily familiar tune, traced and retraced by him on the keys of piano for many years of his life. Beethoven’s _legendary_ Für Elise remixed in dubstep form.

As the beat dropped, Lucas could pinpoint the exact moment he lost his faith in humanity.

Seething with rage at the nuisance of humankind, he walked towards Imane, the barista on duty he was familiar with both from his formerly frequent visits and from girls’ nights in the _coloc_ with Manon and her merry band of weirdos.

She had earplugs in her ears along with a book propped up on the counter and altogether seemed quite disinterested in the goings-on of the world around her, not unreasonable since the café seemed to be going through the dry phase after lunch hour.

Because his mother, as complicated and tenuous as his relationship with her had always been, had raised him to be polite towards anybody who routinely underwent a very specific form of torture called a job in the retail industry, he tried to get her attention by waving his hands around and generally doing a fairly accurate imitation of a hungry gorilla.

She did not budge.

A choked sound of laughter emerged from somewhere behind the counter, and as he turned around to locate the source, Lucas’ heart stopped in his chest

  
——————————————————————

  
His eyes were _enchanting_.

Subconsciously, he knew that he was currently resembling an anime character, the ones that Alexia was so fond of, drinking up his vision with huge and enthralled eyes, albeit deadened by exhaustion.

He felt like the staring could be attributed to the light-up antlers currently perched at the top of his head, though. Also the fact that he seemed to be physically incapable of being still, like energy was thrumming in his veins after somebody had zapped him with a lightning bolt.

  
Imane still hadn’t looked up from her book, and it wasn’t unexpected, her concentration was legendary and her general disdain of the world even more so.

The atrocious dubstep was white noise faintly buzzing in his ears rather than the cacophony from before, and his nerves felt like they were burning, desire and anxiety forming an excruciating cocktail of emotions through his veins.

“Don’t mind Imane. This is the peak of her pleasantness for the day,” Dreamy Eyes, who has introduced himself as Eliott after laughing shamelessly at his predicament, offered cheerfully, “She has a life-threatening allergy towards post-lunch customers, you must understand.”

“Does it pose a risk to her health and well-being or _mine_? I feel like that’s an important question at play here,” Lucas replied.

Eliott ran a pensive finger across his chin, “A true question for the experts. Sadly, I am not well-versed in immunology. Tragic oversight, I know.”

“It’s appalling, the disregard for consumer health. Terrible customer service, really,” Lucas continued despite himself, his heart now revived and apparently compensating for lost time, kick-starting into a rhythm that would have gotten it a speeding ticket, had it been a car.

His heart was a fickle, insolent creature of its own. Lucas would trade it in for an automobile, probably. Engines never made you spontaneously combust whilst in the presence of inhumanely beautiful men

Eliott cracked a smile, bright and soothing as sunshine, “Would an on-the-house latte distract you from the impending lawsuit? I’ve heard they can be pretty effective.”

Lucas detested lattes, almost as much as EDM, perhaps not as much as EDM bastardised with classical, but if Eliott made it, he would drink gasoline and call it nectar of the gods, screw his taste buds.

“Change the soundtrack and I’ll cover the cost. Deal?” Lucas might have forgotten the unholy sounds blaring from the speakers for a minute, but not even for intense attraction would he compromise the integrity of his musical tastes.

“I’m extremely offended by the fact that you would even consider disliking this life-altering specimen of music. But as I’m also broke, you have a deal.” Eliott leant forward, long and nimble fingers extending towards his own.

Lucas wrapped his own hand around his, fingers entwining and unfolding, something crackled between their atoms, electricity across rough, warm palms.

Never had hand-holding felt this good, this _significant_.

Lucas wanted to keep his hand curled in Eliott’s forever, but he also wanted to present himself as semi-normal and well-adjusted and so he let go, his skin immediately mourning the warmth.

“When I offered the exact same thing approximately three hours ago, you weren’t as interested. As I recall, your exact words were, ‘Stabbing myself in the eye would be less painful and more likely’. Do you require a fork? A knife?” Imane deadpanned at Elliot.

Apparently this _injustice_ was enough to elicit a response, but not Lucas’ existence.

Somehow, he didn’t even think it was a personal offence.

“Cost of living in Paris is increasing exponentially by the minute, so I’m currently more broke than I was two hours ago. Besides,” Here, he winked covertly at Lucas,”Customer’s always right.”

“Hello to you too, Imane,” Lucas said dryly, despite the warmth gathering at the pit of his stomach., “Always lovely to see you. Oh you’ve missed me? Thanks, I’ve missed you too.”

“Since you’re perfectly capable of having an entire conversation with yourself, I don’t see why I’m required. Have a good day,” Imane bit out as she returned to her book

“You two know each other?” Eliott piped out, glancing between him and  
Imane interestedly.

“She’s friends with my roommate. And we were lab partners during my disturbing ventures into Biology. Her presence was as scarring for my ego as my utter failure at science,” Lucas replied, rewinding to the month of dissections and diagrams, of being stuck in a hole with no way to climb out.

Imane’s eyes snapped up to Lucas, “Tell Manon to text the group, so we know she isn’t dead and lying in a ditch somewhere”

Lucas winced, “If only you could die from being in a bed for too long. Or any horizontal surface, really. Perhaps even vertical, I had no interest in investigating.”

Imane looked vaguely nauseated. “When she skipped Anatomy, I should have know she’d be partaking in more...practical demonstrations.”

Lucas chuckled gloomily. Manon and Charles really were _quite_ disgusting at times, even more so when you were single and lovesick.

Eliott had started on the latte. Careful hands swirling cream on the coffee precisely. Lucas might not have enjoyed the taste of latte, but its preparation was magnificent to watch.

Especially if the barista had agile, strong, warm hands that had held his own not ten minutes ago.

Eliott shifted the cup towards Lucas, and Lucas forked over some money. Eliott extracted his phone from the labyrinth of paper and wrappers in his phone and changed the music to another deplorable dubstep song.  
  
The AUDACITY

“I’m pretty sure forcing a customer to listen to this trash constitutes some form of emotional harassment,” Lucas said, exasperated.

“Another day, another lawsuit. There’s absolutely no rest for the wicked, is there? We deserve better hours and higher pay.” Elliot mimed raising a fist and throwing a curveball at capitalism, and it was the most _stupidly_ endearing thing Lucas had ever seen.

The latte was ready, and the art was so stunning, so unassumingly gorgeous that Lucas forgot to breathe for a second.

A raccoon stared up at him from the cup, its eyes somber and its silhouette beautifully delineated. After gazing at it for a while, Lucas returned his own stare to Eliott, who had practically indiscernible red spots on the elegant curve of his cheekbone.

“Microfoam art is one of my only talents in life. The other is sleeping. Also being able to rock holiday cheer,” Eliott said, smiling at Lucas in a way that made his blood churn and pointing at the antlers perched jauntily on his head.

“Why a raccoon?” Lucas choked out, “Also you _do_ look ridiculous, so you might want to shorten that list of talents while you’re at it.”

He was still fixated on the art and Eliott, virtually indistinguishable as Eliott looked like he was art too, the fine bones against soft, unruly hair as beautiful as any painting hanging in the Louvre a few kilometres away.

“They wear a mask too,” Eliott spoke through hooded eyelids. Even spoken in a regular volume, his words had the intimacy of a whisper, softness molded into words. The rest of the world fell away, Imane a few feet away was now separated from them by a few oceans. Nothing existed apart from Eliott’s eyes and his smile and the delicate veins in the soft underside of his wrists.

If Lucas could paint, he’d paint this moment into a picture, the slaughtered sunlight streaming through the glass doors, the counter seats the colour of blood and love, and Eliott’s face, the slight darkness under his eyes and the ghosts in his smile.

Imane shifted almost imperceptibly from her stillness and Lucas crashed back into reality at the screeching of the metal chair against the floor.

“Don’t disrespect the reindeers in this economy. You might not like what you find in your stocking.” Eliott carded a hand through Lucas’ hair, and wandered into the back room as if he was unaware that the slight movement had _shattered_ Lucas’ entire life into smithereens.

This was _complete and absolute abuse_ of his human rights. What gave Eliott the liberty to stroke his hair and run away, leaving his emotions to simmer uncomfortably?

The sharp reminder that they were in public, secluded from the world as the café was, left his skin crawling, leftover shame from those beautiful days of living in a metaphorical cage under the cover of darkness.

As abruptly as Eliott had vanished, he materialised back behind the counter, a white pastry box in hand.

“Chocolatine for all your troubles with the consumer-disrespecting system,” he announced smoothly.

He didn’t look like a man aware of the double-crime he had committed. Stroking Lucas’ hair was one felony, but uttering the word _chocolatine_ in civilised company was on a whole different level altogether.

“I saw your mouth move in ways that resembled sound but I don’t think I heard the first word quite right. Maybe it’s not something I’m familiar with, will you bother rephrasing?” Lucas spoke in a narrowed voice, a model of repressed indignation.

A shit-eating grin slowly spread across Eliott’s face. This would have distracted Lucas moments ago, but now he was a man of singular, focused rage. “Chocolatines are sweet dough-roll, cuboidal in shape and containing chocolate at the centre-“

“What was that?” Lucas interrupted, “I couldn’t hear it over the sound of your heathenry.”

“Whatever have I done for you to cast such serious aspersions on my character?” Elliot asked amusedly.

Lucas stuck out a finger, “Bastardisation of dubstep and Beethoven. Strike one” He raised another finger, “Calling _pain au chocolat_ by a name that’s literally a disgrace to the alphabet. Strike two and bad enough to withdraw any other strikes that may have been provided”

Eliott’s smile widened and his lips curved as if to precede the motion of speaking, but before he could continue, a whoosh of freezing air swept past them.

Imane jumped off her chair, and duties, with a mangled sound of joy and a _horrifyingly_ _familiar_ voice traversed the room.

“I hope I’m not too late,” Chloé, girlfriend of many moons ago and a literal ghost from the past, spoke in a way that would be normal to most ears but sounded like shrieking animals from horror movies to Lucas.

Lucas, who had been mildly annoyed at cutting his banter short, especially on a topic as divisive and explosive as _the word that should not be mentioned vs pain au chocolat,_ was now entering into the immobilising panic stage of trauma.

This realisation was immediately followed by Chloé noticing him, her back stiffening even as her eyes shined with careful optimism.

“ _Lucas!”_ She beamed, even though all the way inside she probably wanted to murder him, damn the eyewitnesses.

Eliott’s eyes widened as realisation struck him. Lucas wanted to decompose right in front of the floor, throw the hot latte cupped between his fingers into his eyes to stage temporary blindness, strangle himself with the wind chimes, cause blunt trauma to his head by throwing the speakers on it, _anything, everything_ to immediately remove himself from this situation.

“This is my friend and roommate,Chloé,” Eliott spoke slowly, “It’s probably pointless to introduce you two, since it appears you know each other.”

Lucas was _so_ screwed.

——————————————————————

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> come scream with me on tumblr.
> 
> @jamespotteurs


End file.
